


There Is Hope

by beautifulmidnight



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: Depression, Emotional Baggage, Insomnia, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-18
Updated: 2013-05-18
Packaged: 2017-12-12 05:09:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/807634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beautifulmidnight/pseuds/beautifulmidnight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Leon is severely depressed and has insomnia.</p>
            </blockquote>





	There Is Hope

**Author's Note:**

> The full and original title for this story is _Aegroto, dum anima est, spes esse dicitur_ \- Latin for 'It is said that for a sick man, there is hope as long as there is life.'  
>  I wrote this a long time ago when I was suffering from insomnia and a severe bout of depression one night. I tend to channel my emotions through Leon, so occasionally he is out-of-character, but in this particular story people don't seem to mind that.
> 
> Russian translation by [Bella Pierce](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Bella_Pierce/pseuds/Bella_Pierce): [click here](https://ficbook.net/readfic/3853238)  
> No other permissions for translations have been given!!

Tears streamed down my face. I normally wasn't an emotional man, but lately it didn't take much to trigger the quiet sobs that wracked my body when I was alone. My crying would usually start when I was in bed, when the night gets quiet and there's nothing to distract me from my thoughts.

My brain would flip through my memories faster than the speed of light, in full Technicolor and THX sound. After everything I lived through and seen, why did I always fight back? Why did I always strive to live? What did any of it get me?

A life of solitude and loneliness that no one could possibly understand, that's what.

My chest tightened and my body twisted painfully beneath the sheets.

"Fuck it."

I got up to go to the bathroom and ran the cold water faucet, splashing my face until my tears and the water were indistinguishable from one another. I stared at my face in the mirror, not even recognizing myself anymore. What happened to the kid who just wanted to be a cop?

He was gone. Gone, baby, gone. He left the building. He was out of here, leaving me in a town called Splitsville, population: one Leon Scott Kennedy. Actually, could half a person be counted as one? Probably not.

I went back to bed, pulling the covers up tight. You'd think after taking five Ambien I would've fallen asleep by now, but that wasn't the case. Instead I turned onto my stomach, buried my face in my pillow, and started weeping again.

I didn't even know why I was crying anymore. Was it because I was mourning the loss of my innocent self, or the loss of what my life could've been? Why wasn't I living in a house with a white picket fence and a minivan in my driveway? Where were my wife and 2.5 kids and lovable family dog?

I didn't have any of those things and probably never would.

As the sun started moving out over the horizon, I dried my tears. Even though I always told myself that crying over the past never solved anything, it was easier than thinking about my uncertain future.

Sleep finally overcame me, and in my dreams, I almost felt like a normal life was in my grasp, even if it really wasn't.


End file.
